


Hot Cocoa North of The Bayou

by IrishSpark



Category: Hell or High Water, Tommy and Prophet
Genre: Couch, M/M, rumpled sheets, steaming drinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishSpark/pseuds/IrishSpark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will that be one marshmallow or two in your hot cocoa, sir?</p><p>Tom and Prophet are about to find out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Cocoa North of The Bayou

Part One

Still shaking his head as they walked inside their front door, Tom said, “Can you believe that they… that we just witnessed _those_ two –“

“Getting married?” Prophet snorted. He jangled the keys in his hand, making his way to the kitchen.

“Proph, how can you still be hungry? You finished off nearly a whole hog all by your lonesome.” Tommy trailed and then slid onto one of the barstools, the well-worn leather squeaking quietly as he shifted around, getting comfortable. He forced off his left shoe, then his right, wiggling his toes. “Promise me, if we ever get married, you won’t make me wear such high ‘n mighty foot gear.” He flexed his ankles, enjoying the foot freedom. “Nobody pays attention to shoes. Could have just worn my Docs,” he grumbled.

Prophet turned around, the fridge door still open behind him, its bright light creating a halo effect around his entire body. A body still clothed in a suit tailored to fit within an inch of its life. A body he knew Tommy couldn’t wait to get his hands and mouth and teeth and everything else on. He inwardly grinned. “First of all, T, what’s this _IF_ we get married business and, second of all, that was a pretty small fucking hog.” Prophet left the fridge open, making it the only light in the place, casting shadows all throughout the room. He slowly moved towards Tommy, that inward grin not so inward anymore. “And third of all, most importantly of all, I wasn’t lonesome while watching those two get married, I – “

“Was thinking about us getting hitched?” Tom smirked but his heart was beating faster, and not just because of Proph’s over-acting in the sexy walk department. Tommy shifted on the stool again, not bothering to hide that this time it was his dick needed adjusting in his just as tailored-within-an-inch-of-it-life suit trousers. At least Cil hadn’t forced them to wear ties. “How did you picture it, us, how did we do it?” Tom’s breath was shallow and getting quicker with each exhalation.

Prophet spun Tommy around on that very lucky barstool, placing his hands on each of Tom’s thighs, forcing them apart. He closed the already small gap between them, their thighs now touching and rubbing. The expensive silken wool sounded heavy and soft. “Jesus,” Prophet whispered, the heat from Tommy’s skin scorching him through both layers of fabric. He ran his hands up and down the tops of Tom’s thighs in a slow, rhythmic pattern, watching his fingers flex and grip, flex and grip.

Tom sighed, his eyes half closed, and reached up, running his hands all over Prophet’s recently shorn head. The little hairs pricked and tickled the soft undersides of his fingers, heightening every nerve ending, making them scream for more and spark with need. He leaned towards Prophet, their foreheads touching. “Lije.” A whisper. That’s all he could manage. His brain had been unseated by his heart, by his dick, and the only thing both of those wanted was this man standing in front of him. This man, who allowed Tom to take control when he needed it, when he knew Prophet needed him to do exactly that. This man who allowed Tom to give up his control, allowed the instinctual trust they shared to become the oxygen he breathed, the love he knew, the love they both craved with each heartbeat.

That name, Lije, _his_ name on Tom’s irresistible lips. Prophet kept up his slow but steady rhythm, both of them becoming lazy and languid with the heat building up between them. “What…”, Prophet whispered, “what… why are you smiling, T?” His voice was teasing and curious, gentle, and yet assured.

Tom’s smile widened, his voice a little raspy after such a long, tiring but pretty incredible day. “Was just thinkin’, did you ever dream that Mal would find someone and wana put a ring on it?” Tom snorted and started giggling. Yes. Giggling. A bumpy little rumble of a giggle, his shoulders bobbing as the thing devolved into a snickering breathy mess. 

Prophet squeezed Tom’s thighs a little harder, pushing his forehead against Tom’s, forcing him back just a couple of inches. A warning growl, “T, I can guarantee you that Mal idn’t thinkin’ about us right now, so why are you thinkin’ about him, huh?” Prophet paused, lightening his grip on Tom. “Although, now that I _am_ thinking about him, maybe – “

“I’m warning you, Proph,” and now it was Tommy’s turn to growl.

“Oh, are ya now, Tom.” Prophet sneered, his eyes alight even in the dimly lit kitchen. “And what’re ya gonna do if I don’t heed your oh so scary warning, hmmm?” Prophet slid his hands up Tom’s thighs again, this time continuing on to the waistband of his trousers. Hooking his fingers over the top, he tugged, whispering, “C’mon, T, I been waitin’ all day.” He wrapped his arms around Tommy’s waist, pressing his palms against his back. Gliding upwards until he could curl his hands atop Tom’s shoulders, tightening his grip, he again whispered, “Tommy… please.”

Tom groaned, low and long, “Lije” escaping at the very end. Then his lips were on Prophet’s, pressing and squirming, coaxing and begging. Tom angled his head to his right, Prophet to his, and their mouths were locked, their tongues curling and darting around each other. Tom wrapped his arms around Prophet and squeezed. He needed to be touching, needed to be inside Prophet, needed to be a part of him.

Prophet seemed to sense this and shuffled back a half step, just enough to allow Tom to slide off of the barstool. They came back together in half a breath’s time, breaking the kiss and gasping as their chests touched, their thighs pressed against each other once more. Prophet lined up his groin with Tom’s, grinding, their hardening cocks rubbing against each other. Prophet gently curled his right hand around the side of Tom’s neck, rubbing his thumb up and down the front, grazing Tom’s Adam’s apple. The two-day old stubble rasped against his heated skin, causing a shiver to roll through his body. His involuntary exhale caused Tom’s eyelashes to flutter.

Tom’s mouth opened a bit wider, his eyes glowing with need, insistent yet pliant. It felt like time had stopped, just for this moment. He kept his gaze locked on Prophet’s as they began to slowly make their way to the couch. Not _that_ couch. They’d purchased a new one. A nice, long, black leather one. The cushions had just enough stuffing to be comfortable and yet sturdy enough to withstand heavy usage.

Part Two

Prophet grabbed the cuffs of Tom’s jeans and pulled, yanking them off the rest of the way. He flung them off to the side, the metal from the button fly clinking against the glass top of the coffee table. The discarded impediment to Prophet’s prize slipped over the beveled edge, the soft whoosh of the fabric drowned out by his galloping heartbeat. He leaned forward towards Tom, bracing himself by placing his hands atop Tom’s thighs. Pausing for a moment, he tried to memorize. No matter what his eyes might fail to tell him in the not too distant future, he wanted to be able to see this sight for the rest of his days. Tommy, sweaty and twitchy with need, unable to keep from thrusting upwards, his hair mussed, reaching for Prophet, begging with those warm and wanting eyes of his.

Tom was lost. His eyes were open but unfocused, the shadows on the walls warring with the flashes of brightness dancing around them. Every muscle was straining against itself, stretching his skin, tingling with anticipation. How was it then that his entire body felt so liquid, capable of floating, of doing anything he commanded? Anything Prophet wished. Anything Prophet wanted to do. Anything Prophet was going to do to him. As if his weathered senses had been born anew, Tom gasped, his head tilting back against the arm of the sofa as Prophet chewed then flicked his tongue at his nipple. Prophet’s response was to flick and lick his way across Tom’s chest to the other one, treating it to the same shiver producing pleasure. “Lije,” Tom gasped, his voice breaking with desperation.

Prophet looked up towards Tom, a wicked grin breaking his rhythm before he lowered his eyes, continuing to tease and nibble at Tommy’s now hard pebbled nipple. Grinding against Tom, their hard dicks glided against each other, trapped between the spiking heat of flushed skin and cooling spots of pre-cum. Prophet shuddered, a groan escaping. He’d been holding on, holding back. The exhilarating and overwhelming need to make Tommy fly made him feel ten feet tall and breathless, a thrilling flirtation with suffocation. Suddenly, Tom was gripping Prophet’s hips, tugging as much as he was pressing his own up against Prophet. Desperate.

Tom’s breathing was rapid and loud, surrounding him, the impending loss of control inevitable, frightening, and fully embraced. Necessary. Even now, it still surprised him, this ability Prophet possessed to reach down inside and reveal how deeply Tom needed him. It was something neither of them had ever put into words. It certainly wasn’t about to happen now, either. Tom groaned and then Prophet’s lips were enveloping his. Prophet shoved his warm, strong tongue into Tom’s mouth, rocking the length of his body against Tom’s. It felt like his blood was going burn right through his skin as he sucked hard on Prophet’s tongue, whimpering down low in his throat. Jesus.

Prophet wrenched his mouth away from Tom’s, his overheated breath pulsing in time with Tom’s heartbeat. He could hear it. It was the same heartbeat thundering in his ears. He needed an anchor. Grabbing Tommy’s hair and curling his fingers through it, holding on tight, Prophet grunted, “Come for me, Tommy, don’t make me wait.” He leaned down and bit Tom on his jaw, just below his earlobe. “Do it.”

And they did. Tommy keened, a staccato desperate sound as his dick pulsed, cum smearing between them. Prophet growled, loosened his grip in Tom’s hair, his body jerking without rhythm or care of anything else. His cum spreading and mingling with Tom’s, their bellies and cocks slick with it, Prophet sank down onto Tom. Their chests heaved against each other, the restriction of movement extending the pleasure as their bodies begged for oxygen. Prophet pressed his face against Tom’s neck, nothing but darkness and this man holding him up, holding onto him. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually whispered Tommy’s name or not but, just as the edges of cold reality began their crawl back inside of him, Tom’s still shaking arms were around him, pressing him down even further. He wouldn’t get lost now. Fear was pushed back again, made to wait. Prophet hoped that wait would last forever.

Part Three

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm,” Prophet groaned, an extra layer of obnoxiousness punctuating their sounds of eating and drinking. He slowly licked up one side of his middle finger, then back down the other, all the while leering at Tom.

Tom couldn’t keep the smile off his face, looking down in the lamest of lame attempts to hide it. He plucked another grape from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. Suddenly, he looked up, coughing, “What the fuck, Proph, really? Oh… oh that’s bad,” Tom choked, pinching his nose closed. “Proph!” It was a silent but deadly killer, at least in terms of Tom’s nose hairs, his gag reflex on red alert.

Prophet broke out in hyena-type laughter, falling onto his side, kicking out his legs as they unfolded from beneath him. “That’s what you get, alligator boy!” Prophet cackled. His left foot landed in Tom’s lap, as he’d still been seated with his legs crossed.

“Nuh uh, my bayou wannabe, get this stinkin’ hoof off me!” Tom was laughing as he grabbed Prophet’s ankle and shoved the offending foot away from him. 

Prophet slithered towards his victim, grinning. He looked like a giant salamander leisurely making its way through the mud that was their rumpled sheets. “C’mon, Tommy,” Prophet groaned, “you know you love it.” Prophet head-butted Tom’s thigh and rubbed against him like a just-as-giant cat attempting to return to its owner’s good graces. Well, ok, not really, because what cat ever did that? And Tommy didn’t own Prophet. He’d done the very opposite, freeing him in so many ways that Prophet had lost count. Prophet sighed. Tom was running his fingers through Prophet’s hair. Prophet _may_ have purred.

“Did you just... _purr_?” Tom’s laughter spilling out as a breathy chuckle.

“No! That was a growl, I’ll have you know,” Prophet protested, sitting up. A breath passed between them, eyes bright as they gazed at one another. They both lunged towards each other.

“Ha! Fuck you, bayou boy!” Tom yelled, the emphasis on ‘boy’ as Prophet pulled Tom down, his arm curling around into a headlock. 

“Ho, ho, ho! Such strong language from a man who’s currently in a death grip.” Prophet snarled and wrapped his other arm across Tom’s back.  
Tom relaxed a fraction of a second, his voice still muffled,”Gonna get me in a death roll, are ya, bayou boy?” He burrowed in closer to Prophet.

Prophet sighed, and then hummed, as if in deep thought. Finally, “Nah, I’d rather just get some sleep.” He sighed again. “You slayed me, Tommy,” Prophet whispered.

Tom grinned against the warmth of Prophet’s neck and whispered, “I’m full, too.” Tom was full from their middle of the night snack, full of the peace that defined his truth when it came to this man beneath him. Tom slid down next to Prophet, their limbs heavy and tangled together. Contented, sleep came.

Part Four

Tom stopped as he reached the threshold, leaning against the frame of the door to their bedroom. He grasped both mugs of hot cocoa by their handles in one hand, his other resting in the rear pocket of his low slung jeans. The steam from the cocoa sent up mini swirls, catching the sunlight streaming through the one window with its curtains flung wide open. Tom crossed his feet, curling the toes of his right foot, flexing them back and forth.

He grinned at the handsome sleeping figure on the bed, sprawled out on his stomach. That sleeping figure had awakened enough at some point to have donned some of Tom’s boxers, the gray ones softened with wear. The same boxers he knew Proph loved seeing Tom wear, how they hugged his hips and hung snuggly across his ass cheeks, outlining his beautiful cock and heavy balls. He loved ripping them off even more. They should have been shredded bits of fabric long before now, but some things simply stood the test of time.

Tom frowned enough to feel the tug on his lips, realizing his heartbeat was no longer galloping along as it had been for the last half hour he’d spent in the kitchen, puttering and making the cocoa. Looking at Prophet’s prone body, his breathing setting an even tempo, Tom’s mind knew what his heart knew: the universe willing, he and Prophet would have many a morning like this, sunshine, rumpled sheets, and hot cocoa, and everything that came the night before.

Tom let his eyes trail leisurely up and down Prophet, the slightly wrinkled skin on the relaxed soles of his feet, the bend in his right knee, drawn up closer to Prophet’s chest, while his left leg stretched out across the bed. That small dip at the base of Prophet’s spine, a faint shadow settled there, making it an oasis compared to the rest of his back bathed in the sunbeams. Prophet appeared at total ease, his muscles matching that relaxed metronome of his breath, in and out, in and out.

Prophet was still using his own pillow but he’d pulled the corner of Tom’s close to his face, the fingers on his right hand tightly clenched, causing more of those small but not at all insignificant shadows. That told Tom all he needed to know. It wasn’t anything new, nothing that would warrant one of those annoying crawlers at the bottom of the screen, displaying the same information over and over again. Although, that was a plus because his love for Prophet, and the love Prophet gave to Tom every single day, were definitely worth putting on repeat for all eternity.

Tom sighed, a long and quiet exhalation as he slowly pushed himself away from the doorway and towards the bed. He padded over to the nightstand on his side and gently placed the still steaming mugs on the solid black coasters with the matte gold fleur de lis design. David and Roger had sent them along in a package that had been filled with homemade goodies from down there on the Bayou. He and Prophet had made short work of most of it in one sitting. They saved enough for Remy, giving the kid the best of the best of an after school snack. Tom allowed his lopsided grin to grow as he lowered himself onto the bed, sliding down and lying on his side, watching Prophet.

~

Prophet sighed and straightened his leg, stretching both as he did so. The sigh turned into one of those oh so enjoyable groans, a result of a fantastic set of shuteye after and even more fantastic night with Tom. 

Tommy.

Prophet opened his eyes partway and saw Tom smiling at him, his eyes even brighter with the sunshine reflecting off of them. The warmth on his skin covered him in an invisible layer of comfort as he returned Tommy’s smile, closing his eyes again. He relaxed his grip on Tom’s pillow and slid his hand across the crisp yet soft cotton, the sound of friction like a sigh itself. He felt Tom’s lips against his fingertips and grinned again, this time opening his eyes fully, a breathy chuckle floating across the few inches between them.

Sitting up, Tom grinned right back. A quick whine of protest from Prophet had Tom snorting as he turned, reaching for the cocoa. Closing his eyes, Tom took in a dramatically deep breath, endangering the tiny marshmallows bobbing atop the creamy liquid. It was dire, they faced the possibility of their final moments involving being sucked up into Tom’s crooked nose. Prophet was smiling again and started to rise to sit, but then stilled. He looked from the mugs up to Tom’s face, a question forming in those beautiful, bright eyes. Prophet felt a moment of fear, of uncertainty, an almost worse feeling to have at this moment. He cleared his throat and sat all the way up.

Tom took a sip of his cocoa, still holding Prophet’s mug. Prophet smirked as he watched Tom’s lips caressing the rim of the mug. Well, he called it caressing. He imagined the caressing, and kissing and sucking those same lips had done all over his body last night. His skin tingled in random places at the memories. He locked his gaze with Tom’s. 

Tom’s look was quizzical again, though not as pronounced. He took another quick sip of his cocoa and then set them both back down onto the nightstand. Turning back around, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. He reached for Prophet at the same time Prophet reached for him, their fingers curling around each other. An unbreakable weave. Prophet held on tightly, squeezing Tom’s hand every few seconds, like a heartbeat. It was reassuring but also belied the nerves that were now fully alert and pulsing.

Prophet dragged his other hand across their pillows, now bunched up between them, his fingers closed in a tight fist. His mouth suddenly felt like it was lined with sandpaper, dry and itchy and all too annoying. His tongue darted out, licking his lips. This earned him his own smirk from Tom. Prophet grinned, bowing his head for a second in… embarrassment? Shyness? He’d never admit it but that’s how he felt. Course, Tom probably knew. Well, ok, not even probably. He knew. He was steadily and lightly rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of Prophet’s hand.

Prophet sat up a bit straighter, letting out a sharp sigh through rounded lips, his cheeks puffing out. Tom chuckled, his brows not appearing as curious as a moment ago, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. Prophet rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out. It was a delay tactic, he knew, but he’d never done this before. Christ, his heart was racing. Not in that thundering kind of way but fluttering, like it was about to leap out of his chest and say “ta daaaaa!” in a bid to get this show on the road. For a split second, he contemplated doing just that. Then he shook his head and forced out another breath. He could do this. This he could do. Shit, he’d faced down how many kinds of hell on earth without so much as an uptick from this same heart that was attempting to make the great escape.

Prophet realized he’d been looking down at their joined hands and suddenly looked up. Tom was smiling, his eyes still bright but not just from the sunshine. Prophet kept his eyes locked on Tom, on his imperfectly gorgeous face as he slowly unfurled his fist, revealing the little dark purple box. Blindly, he flipped the top open, the tiny hinges popping, the sound swallowed up by the crackling heated air between them. He put the box down on the pillow and lifted a plain, sleek platinum band from the folds of velvet. 

~

Tom’s face was a mix of disbelief and the look that said “about time’, one he’d shown Prophet a million times before. Prophet opened his mouth to begin but Tom reached up and pressed the tip of his forefinger against Prophet’s lips. The muscles in Tom’s jaw rippled as he worked desperately to control the basketball sized lump in his throat. He offered his right hand (it was shaking only a little) and smiled, his cheeks stretched to the point of exaltation-filled discomfort. 

Prophet kissed Tom’s finger and grinned that grin he’d given Tom his own million times before, the one that made him look like a smug teenager who’d just won some silly argument. This wasn’t silly. This was serious, and life-changing. Mind blowing if Tom was going to be honest. What else could he possibly be in this moment? He watched Prophet’s eyelashes resting against his cheeks as he looked down to slip the band on Tom’s right hand ring finger. It slipped on perfectly. Prophet looked up quickly, sucking in a surprised gasp, his grin wide and happy.

Happy. _Happy._ Tom could barely have imagined he would ever feel the happiness he was feeling right now. Without even thinking, he slipped his now adorned hand into Prophet’s hair, the smooth band gliding along, unfettered, undeterred. 

Just like them.

Tom leaned close, stopping just before his lips met Prophet’s, looking into the eyes of the man he’d let into his heart and had trusted him with the same lifesaving act of bravery. Those eyes wouldn’t always be able to see that love reflecting back at him, but now Prophet would always be able to feel that reflection in the small indestructible band pressed against his skin, mussing his hair.

~

Prophet closed the barely there distance and kissed Tommy. It was almost too much, the feel of Tom’s firm and warm lips, his fingers curled into Prophet’s hair, fingertips kneading gently against his scalp, the quickly fading coolness of the ring, marking him forever with its increasing warmth and certainty. Prophet groaned and tilted his head, their mouths lining up as tongues explored and demanded what was theirs. Prophet still felt as if he stood on the precipice of too much, hope and his past warring, the final battle for his future and his happiness. As if Tom knew, Proph felt that strong, gentle hand slip down the back of his head, stopping to rest and then press against his neck.

Prophet couldn’t help the small gasp of laughter that escaped, momentarily breaking their kiss, lungs thankful for the respite. Still chuckling, a feeling bubbled to the surface like lava, not to be denied its right to build molten layer upon molten layer of strength and love. Whispering, Prophet asked, “So, T, what did you get for me?”

Not more than a half a second passed before they both started laughing, Tom heaving himself atop Prophet. He grabbed Prophet’s wrists and pressed the insides of his thighs tightly up against the hips of the man pretending to struggle, pinning him down. 

Tom lowered his full body weight down onto Prophet. He held his head up just enough to look Proph in the eyes and whispered back, “Wouldn’t you rather I show you than tell you?”

Part Five

Prophet’s knee was bouncing while he chewed his bottom lip, his gaze sinking into some unknown invisible hole in the coffee table. Just an hour ago, he’d been beaming at Tommy, his playful arrogance on full display. Grinning, Tommy pushed away from the door frame of their bedroom and made his way to the couch. Their couch. Sitting down on Prophet’s left, he slipped his hand atop those strong, gentle fingers. The gleam from the gun metal gray platinum band around his finger caused the faintest reflection from the light streaming in through the living room windows. Prophet’s leg stilled.

As if he’d been storing oxygen like a squirrel stores nuts in its cheeks, Prophet exhaled a long sigh as he turned to look at Tommy. “You think they’re home yet?” He was still chewing his lip, but he’d turned his hand over, he and Tommy’s palms greeting in warm familiarity. He sighed again. That warmth always gave him the strength he needed to allow the calm, and quiet, to come. 

That look in Prophet’s eyes was rare but just as familiar as the reassuring warmth Tommy felt as he twined his fingers with Prophet’s. Those eyes. Sometimes it still hit him like a fully loaded freight train, stealing his breath, closing his throat, nearly stopping his heart. They’d been lucky so far, with Prophet suffering the random but temporary loss of vision his that condition would cause him, along with the deep steel gray color his eyes now projected. They only revealed their secret, the true tragedy and difficulty of what was to come, to those who already knew. And they were ready for it. Tom was ready. Jesus, he hoped they were ready.

“T?” Prophet squeezed Tommy’s hand once.

Tommy started from his reverie and racing heartbeat, automatically smiling at the sound of Prophet’s voice. He had to think for a second, he knew Proph had asked him a question. Oh. Right. _Them_. “I dunno, Proph, why don’t we just call ‘em and see, yeah?” 

Tommy was still smiling but his eyes had taken on a fondness that never failed to cause Prophet’s stomach to take a mini flip. Still. He stared into those beautiful, experienced eyes, trying once again to memorize that warmth. The love. What would happen when he couldn’t see them anymore? How would he know, how would his stomach know that the music had started, that Tommy was looking at him like that, and it was time for some gymnastics in his gut? Then it hit him, like it still did sometimes, surprising him even though it shouldn’t, not after all this time, everything they’ve survived, always making their way back to each other. His guy would know, just like his heart would always and forever know that Tom loved him and would always look at him just like he was looking at him right now. 

Tom spoke quietly, not wanting to break the spell he could feel had landed, having a good guess as to why. “Proph, wanna call ‘em?”

It was Prophet’s turn to start, his revealed only in that he blinked quickly two times, then a third. Taking in a deep breath, he said, “Hell yeah, let’s call those fuckers.” He grinned and leaned back to reach for his cell phone, maintaining his half of the love grip. He couldn’t think of it as ‘holding hands’, it just didn’t fit them, even if it was the plain truth. One more thing about which Prophet chose to be metaphorically blind, not minding in the slightest, especially since Tom was the other half.

Tommy chuckled, “Yeah, fuckers, that’s definitely them. Probably been them for the last two weeks, solid.”

Prophet grinned wide, flicking his tongue in a most lewd manner. Tommy lunged as Prophet tapped “send” on his phone, both of them laughing.

About half an hour later, Mal and Cillian were seated on that couch, snug as two bugs in a very expensive leather rug. _His_ couch, Tommy kept reminding himself, his and Prophet’s. Still, he couldn’t help but glare once at the two men who, while not holding hands, might as well have been since they were practically sitting in each other’s laps. Ok, so maybe he glared twice. Mal flipped him off, and then grinned. Instead of cold assholishness, they reflected the friendship that had somehow sprung up between him and Tom, which still surprised them both sometimes. 

“So, you two have been home for _three_ days and you didn’t tell us?” Prophet was doing his own glaring from one of the just as comfortable and sturdy lounge chairs that sat on the other side of the coffee table, facing Mal and Cillian.

Mal lifted a brow, and held it for what could be considered and inhumanly possible amount of time.

“I do apologize, Prophet, I hadn’t realized we were required to check in after our arrival back from our… vacation.” Cillian’s smooth, lilting accent, the one he usually put on for strangers, smooth and lilting.

Prophet smiled. Cill was nervous. Well, wasn’t that something. He was nervous and couldn’t bring himself to use the word ‘honeymoon’ which, of course, that’s what it had been. Well, Prophet could help out with that. “Vacation? I thought you were on your honeymoon? Awwww, trouble in paradise already? Or were you someplace cold and dreary, just like you can be sometimes?”

Mal snorted, a deep rasp that was more air than sound. He turned and looked at Cillian, grinning wide. He made a few motions with his hands, now smirking.

“What? How can you even ask me a such a thing?” Cillian grabbed for one of Mal’s hands, laying a kiss on his knuckles. Nearly whispering, he said, “You know fecking well that I’d marry you all over again.” His own grin was lecherous and loving.

“Oh, fuck’s sake, would you two just stop it?” Prophet groaned and slid further down into his chair, rolling his eyes and letting out what could be described as not quite the exasperated sigh he was hoping to share.

Cillian kept his eyes on Mal but said, slow and steady, his lilt back in full force, “Turnabout’s fair play, my friend, turnabout’s fair play.” On the last word, he finally turned to look at the two scowling men across from him. “C’mon, you bloody feckers, you know you want this.”

Before Cillian could make any further moves or utter a single word more, Mal reached up with his free hand and clasped it over Cillian’s mouth. He looked at Tommy and Prophet with that raised eyebrow again. This time, it was quick and accompanied with a nod towards them both.

“Yeah, yeah, ok, why’d we call you and – “

“You mean why’d you call them, Proph,” Tommy interjected.

“What the – you said I should! And I’m not alone in this, you’re the other fifty percent of this deal.” Prophet paused, and then, “I’m not alone in this, am I, Tom?” He sounded sort of threatening but the look in his face betrayed the slightest of worrying doubt.

Tommy stood and walked the step and half to Prophet’s chair. He sat down on the arm, slinging his right leg across it, his calf lying atop Prophet’s lap. “No, Proph, you’re definitely not alone.” He smiled.

“Sucker.” Prophet grinned as Tommy leaned down, wrapping his right arm around Prophet’s neck. His wrist was resting atop Prophet’s shoulder, with his hand, fingers splayed and palm pressed gently against Prophet’s chest, in full view of everyone and everything in the room.

Mal made a sound. It wasn’t entirely different than his snort but this was more from surprise. And loud. It wasn’t difficult to interpret that noise considering both his eyebrows had shot up, coming within a whisper of shaking hands with his hairline.

Cillian smirked, first looking at Mal and then back at Tommy and Prophet. They’d both stilled at Mal’s exclamation. Prophet’s look was unreadable but Tommy’s was easy, his eyes smiling just as much as his mouth. Cillian cleared his throat and asked, “So, gentlemen, shall we get to planning? I know a great tailor.”

**Author's Note:**

> To say thank you to the two incredibly wonderful friends who beta and proofread for me, well, that just wouldn't suffice.  
> Still, thank you Lisa and OJ. Big huge messy sloppy kisses and squeeeeeeeeeeeeeezing hugs. <3
> 
> So, somehow I had turned off anon commenting. That has been remedied.
> 
> In other news.... some rope play or honeymoon activity may be in the next story...........


End file.
